


Different

by Mireille



Series: Tongue Tied and Twisted [1]
Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-23
Updated: 2001-11-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 02:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13777893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: And in a moment, everything is different.





	Different

At breakfast, his father had sat down across from him with that  _look_  on his face, the one that said that Clark wasn't going to like what was going to be said. The same look he'd gotten when he was little and forgot to do his chores, or gotten in trouble at school for talking to Pete instead of working. Clark swallowed his mouthful of cereal and waited.

"I forgot to ask you," his father began. "How did it go when you took the truck back to Lex Luthor the other day?"

How had it gone? He'd had a fencing foil hurled into the wall six inches from his face. He'd been shown a house big enough to hold five of the Kents', a house that no one lived in. Even Lex didn't seem to  _live_  there, just like you didn't live in a hotel just because that was where you happened to be sleeping. Lex had talked to him -- really talked to him. Not like he was a baby who had to be protected, the way his parents did; not like Clark-the-Spaz-Loser, the way his friends did all too often. Just talked to him.

Never mind that he hadn't understood half of what Lex was talking  _about._  Flying? They had a future? He had a suspicion that Lex had been trying to weird him out. Too bad for him that Clark had already found out that he was the King of Weird. It didn't matter, though. It was enough that Lex seemed to take him seriously.

"Okay, I guess," he said. Then he took a deep breath. He only had twenty minutes before the bus came, anyway. He could stand twenty minutes of Dad being pissed at him. "You know, Dad, I understand why I couldn't keep the truck--"  _liar,_  he understood no such thing, but he did understand that hell would freeze over before that truck would be his--"but I think you misjudged Lex. His dad may be a real scumbag, but Lex is different." Lex  _was_  different. Mercurial and impulsive and entirely unlike anyone Clark had ever known.

"Maybe." Clark knew that tone of voice too well to interpret it as anything but "When pigs fly." "But that doesn't matter. Even if he's not as conniving as his father, the Luthors aren't our kind of people, son. And Lex isn't exactly a saint -- he did nearly kill you because he was driving like a maniac."

"Pete drives like a maniac too, and you aren't warning me about him."

"Pete's fifteen, and he still hasn't passed his driving test. That's different. And that's another thing. Lex isn't in school, is he?"

Clark tried to envision Lex Luthor walking the halls of Smallville High and utterly failed. He couldn't picture Lex in such a mundane setting. Lex belonged in the Luthor house, full of covered furniture and imported ghosts. Or in the cornfield, appearing from the darkness like the answer to Clark's terrified prayers. Somewhere mysterious, exotic, like the smooth pale curve of his skull. Not Smallville. "No, Dad, he works for his father's company."

"Doesn't that make him a little old to be hanging out with a high school boy?"

"We're not 'hanging out.' I saved his life, I returned the truck."  _He rescued me, but I don't want to bring that up or Dad will be on the phone to Whitney's parents and I'll be an even bigger freak at school._

His father sighed. "I know that was hard for you, Clark. Maybe if this is a good year, we'll be able to get you a truck for your birthday, but I can't make any promises."

"I know. It's okay, really. But I'd better go, or I'll miss the bus again." It wasn't about the truck, not really. It was about...

Lex knew what it was like to be different. Maybe not quite as different as Clark--unless there was a spaceship stashed away somewhere at the Luthor place too, and while there was room for it, Clark doubted it-- but different. Lex had his own secrets.

Not that Clark had any plans to share his secrets with Lex. He could just imagine the cool amusement in Lex's eyes if he confessed,  _I can outrun the school bus without breaking a sweat. You drove your car into me at sixty miles an hour, and I don't even have a bruise. My dad says I came from another planet. And last night, I had a dream about you that..._ He could feel his face growing hot at the memory. He hadn't been able to get back to sleep afterward; he'd lain awake for hours, replaying the images again and again...

He'd dreamed about Lana before, but those dreams had been nothing like this. Those dreams had been -- sweet. Gentle kisses, fumbling caresses, whispered promises of love -- nothing like last night. Lex had been...different. Clark was amazed that his subconscious had come up with the dream; he certainly hadn't  _consciously_  thought about it before.

Not before, but he hadn't been able to stop thinking about it since. If he hadn't had to go after Jeremy -- if Lex hadn't freed him immediately...

"You know, I've been thinking," the dream-Lex had said, with a half- smile that left Clark dizzy. "If you can't keep the truck, I need to find another way to show you how grateful I am to you for saving my life."

Clark had tried to tell him that it wasn't necessary, that all he wanted was to be untied, but Lex put a finger to Clark's lips to silence him, and Clark didn't have the strength to argue.

There was no sweetness. Not that Lex hurt him, not exactly, though there were a few moments, after Lex had cut him down and he was sprawled face-down in the rich black earth, when he bit his lip hard enough to taste blood to keep himself from screaming. But it wasn't sweet, it wasn't --

No. He was lying, and while he might have sunk far enough into the Twilight Zone to have dreamed about Lex Luthor fucking him senseless in a cornfield ( _how's that for your Wall of Weird, Chloe?_ ), he still wasn't a liar. It was indescribably sweet, so sweet that even the memory of the dream left him hard. But it wasn't gentle, and it wasn't loving; it was rough and fast and terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, and he could taste the blood and sweat and dirt in his mouth, could feel Lex holding him down (not that he couldn't have escaped if he wanted to, but God, why?), Lex's hands cool on his hot skin, Lex  _inside_  him...and now he knew he was  _really_  blushing; the glow was probably visible in Metropolis.

Add this to the list of secrets to keep. If anyone ever found out -- well, he was trying  _very_  hard not to think about how Pete, or Chloe, or --oh  _God_ \--his parents would react if they did.

But Lex  _was_  different. Not that Clark had any plans to tell him about the dream, of course not, but maybe he wouldn't freak out if he knew. Metropolis was a big city. Lex was older, he'd actually been somewhere other than Smallville--it might not even be a big deal. He might even--

_You're nuts. One, you are never going to let him find out about this. Two, if by some bizarre occurrence, he does find out, he is not going to want to re-enact your screwed-up dream. Period._

Still, Lex was different. And it was easier for him to be "different" - - to be the alien super-fast freak-show he'd always been -- around Lex. He still had to keep his secrets, but he didn't have to pretend to be just like everyone else. He got the distinct feeling, in fact, that Lex liked him -- or was amused by him, or whatever Lex felt about him --  _because_  he wasn't just like everyone else.

So dreams or no dreams, and no matter what his father said, or thought, or forbade, he wouldn't pass up the chance, if one arose, to see Lex again. The weirdos had to stick together, didn't they?

And maybe, if he were really lucky, he'd have the dream again tonight. His entire life had been turned upside-down within the space of a week; he  _deserved_  to have it again. It would only be fair. Not that life had ever been fair -- his parents had drilled  _that_  into his head often enough, when he complained as a kid -- but maybe things would be different.

Not  _that_  different, he realized when he saw that he'd completely failed to notice the bus stopped in front of his house until it was driving away.

But maybe different enough.

**Author's Note:**

> [me on tumblr](https://mireille719.tumblr.com)


End file.
